


Abattoir

by Tatertot_Piglet (Yarking)



Category: Dream SMP- fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF, mcyt
Genre: (begging in a torture context not a sexyfun context), Anal Plug, Asphyxiation, Begging, Betrayal, Blood and Injury, Branding, Burning, Burns, Butt Plugs, Can we start a Butcher Trash Party? No? o okay, Choking, Cock & Ball Torture, Dacryphilia, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dehumanization, Enemas, Facials, Fire, Force-Feeding, Forced Exhibitionism, Fundy is an actual bipedal fox guy, Gags, Gore, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, Manhandling, Mutilation, Needles, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Haircuts, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Ownership, PWP, Panic, Piercings, Plugging, Poisoning, Predicament Bondage, Public Humiliation, Rough Oral Sex, Sexual Assault, Slapping, Starvation, Threats of Violence, Torture, Vomiting, Wooden Horse - Freeform, amputation (minor?), cropping and docking, dragging behind horse, drowning (nonfatal), hanging (non-fatal), permanent injury (per canon life), stockade, stress positions, tooth extraction, welding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:28:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28528479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yarking/pseuds/Tatertot_Piglet
Summary: The Butcher Boys don't execute Technoblade when they bring him out of retirement. That would be too quick, too easy.Quackity is set on turning 'Technoblade never dies' into a curse.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 175
Kudos: 381





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> YA'LL LISTEN UP BUTTERCUPS
> 
> 1\. All characters presented are representations of the characters, not their players. I exclusively write Technoblade the Anarchy Pig, not Technoblade the Cali gamer.  
> 2\. THIS IS A DEAD DOVE FIC. It will get MUCH worse than the first chapter. There will be minimal plot.  
> 3\. Please understand that I love every character in the SMP, and what I write characters doing and what I write being done to them does not reflect my feelings on the characters themselves. Technoblade is my favorite, so please do not take this as a condemnation of him in any way. I hurt the fictional ones I love.  
> 4\. If you have objections about anything that I do not have tagged, I highly encourage you to tell me so I can appropriately tag it!  
> 5\. If you have objections about anything that I HAVE tagged, click the back button.

Technoblade had made two leads in case he lost one. It had helped eventually when he gathered his cows after a stray creeper had blown a hole in their pen, but he never really thought he’d need it again. He forgot he had it, until Quackity returned from his stables to where Techno was kneeling between Ranboo and Tubbo.

“You’re just stealing my things, now?” Techno growled. Ranboo slapped his side with the flat of his sword before Quackity gestured to leave Techno be. Ranboo returned to just looming over him, swords crossed with Tubbo for a quick execution should Techno try anything. “I only have the one horse.”

“We know. This one’s for Karl,” Quackity explained, lifting one of the leads in his hand. Techno watched warily as Quackity strolled forward. His smile was suspiciously smug, and his eyes were no more that slits as he lifted the other. “This one’s for you.”

Oh, he didn’t like the sound of that. “I can walk.”

Quackity’s grin narrowed to a thin cut over his face. “We don’t want you to.”

Techno exhaled slowly, dread building as Quackity walked past Techno’s line of sight. Techno didn’t risk turning to look, not wanting to give his armed captors a reason to behead him where he knelt.

“Take his coat off. We can’t have him slipping his bindings because of his cuffs.”

Techno could hear Fundy’s boots crunch through the snow, and remained passive as he pulled the coat off him from behind. The fastening pins on his chest keeping the coat in place strained and then bent, and his arms were pulled behind his back as the sleeve dragged off of him.

The coat cleared his arms, but before he could bring them forward again, a pair of hands grasped his wrists and kept them wrenched so his chest and shoulders burned with the stretch. Techno guessed it was Quackity, scowling at the ground as he felt the rough hemp of the rope digging into his wrists. He made a knot and tested its security with a few short tugs, before pulling harshly up on the lead.

With his arms already twisted back to the extremis of his range of motion, Techno grunted and buckled at the waist. It kept his shoulder from dislocating from the wrenching force, but in so forced Techno’s chest and face to plant into the snow.

A foot planted between his shoulder blades, and Techno wheezed. He could smell the mud under the blanket of snow.

“His pants, now."

Techno jolted, and when someone made a move to pull up his right hoof, he snapped his leg forward and kicked out and whatever he could reach. The motion unbalanced him and put enough weight on his strained arm that the edges of his vision blurred from the pain, but he managed at least two solid kicks in from the feel of the contact.

Someone caught him just between his heel and dew claw and he struggled to get enough leverage to pull himself free. Even with his face pressed into the mud, the grip held tight.

“Stop, or we’ll give you a reason to,” Quackity threatened above him. He spoke to his accomplice then. “Go ahead. Long enough that he feels it.”

Techno’s brow furrowed, but Quackity’s meaning soon became clear. He could feel the warmth of the torches passively, but heat began to build uncomfortably around the sole of his hoof. Techno craned his head back, smearing mud over his cheek and lips, and just managed to see out of the corner of his eye Fundy holding his torch to the bottom of his hoof, letting the flames lick at the keratin.

Panic set in at the same time as the scent of burnt hair, and he redoubled his effort to free his leg. “I’m not a fucking horse!” he shouted. He hated hearing the fear in his own voice, but the thought of never being able to run again chilled him more than the snow. “They’re not built to be shoed!”

“We know,” Quackity said above him, and with a motion of his hand, the heat finally moved away. “But we could. Maybe a couple iron horseshoes would keep you from sneaking around all over the place. It’s the second best use of an anvil I could think of for you.”

Fundy released his foot and Techno could hear the hiss as it dropped into the snow. Piglin hooves weren’t as sensitive as a human’s foot, but they were thinner than a horse’s, and he could feel the heat still trapped beneath in the flesh of the hoof, like a hot stone in his shoe he couldn’t remove. The slush was soothing, especially on the edges of skin around the top of his hoof, made cherry-red and almost blistering from the fire.

Techno shuddered out a sigh of relief as the tender skin began to numb.

“Are you going to keep fighting now, or are we going to have to pull Karl’s shoes off his dead body and nail them into yours?”

Techno ground his teeth, rage simmering under the surface hotter than the threatening flames, but knew better than to make things worse. He squeezed his freed hoof in the muddy snow, trying to sap away the lingering heat. “Go on.”

A hand- Fundy’s most likely, though Techno didn’t bother to check- cupped around the front of his hoof, asking wordlessly for him to raise it again. This time, he obeyed. The pressure on his shoulders eased as Fundy pulled down one pant leg, then the other, giving him time at least to shift his weight when he needed to move his knees for the fabric to clear.

He was down to the pale white shirt that fell half down his thigh, the red sash at his waist, and his flimsy undergarments. Techno shivered as the chill set in in earnest. The short, thin bristles of peachy fur on his legs only traveled up his shins to his knees, so the stretch of bare pink skin from knee to his shirt’s hem prickled and reddened from the cold. His shirt, soaked through the front in icy mud as it was, clung to his chest and flank and did nothing to hide the shaking overtaking his body.

“Do you know what this is called, Techno?” Quackity asked. The malice in his face made Techno’s rage flare, and Fundy began to wrap the lead around the same section he first caught.

“Inadvisable.”

Fundy tightened the lead around his pastern and pulled it close to his other before he continues tying. Quackity put more of his weight onto the foot on Techno’s back, and the mud squelched up around him.

“It’s called a hogtie.”

The knot tightened so his hooves clattered together and cinched up to his hands. As soon as he heard Fundy step away, Techno pulled at the binding and tested to see if he could loosen an end and untie himself when they were distracted, but he could barely touch the rope from the odd angle, let alone get a grip on it.

Dread began to seep in like the cold. It was humiliating, sure, mostly naked and bound up like some farm animal, but he could bide his time. And when Karl was put in some stables and these fools were done congratulating themselves on nothing, he’d find his opening and eventually get around to slitting their throats after he hides his horse someplace safe.

Easy.

His planning was interrupted by a tug on his limbs, and Quackity stepped off of him. Techno reared, twisting and craning to see what was pulling at him, and saw Ranboo and Fundy hauling him by the free end of the lead towards where Tubbo was holding Karl. “What are-...” Techno asked aloud, and then froze. A nervous disbelief stained his voice. “Ehh? No. N-no, guys, you-... don’t you want me  _ alive  _ by the time we get back to L’Manberg?”

“I could take it or leave it,” Ranboo muttered, before Quackity cut in.

“This won’t kill you, Techno! Technoblade never dies!” Quackity promised. He helped Tubbo now to tie the end of Techno’s lead to the saddle. A manic energy radiated off of Quackity as he mounted the horse, and when he looked over his shoulder with familiar bloodlust, Techno’s nerves redoubled into a genuine panic. “It’s just going to really,  _ really  _ hurt.”

“I don’t-”

Techno was cut off as Quackity dug his heels into Karl’s side hard enough to elicit a squeal of pain from the horse. Techno had all of the split second when Karl was lunging forward to brace himself before the slack in the lead went taut, and Techno was sent skidding behind the galloping animal, knocked gracelessly into snow-covered stones and underbrush.

The pain hit just a moment later like it had to catch up to him, and it surprised him enough that he couldn’t quite stifle his scream. His arm was definitely dislocated. Maybe both of them; it was hard to judge the wave of throbbing that radiated from his shoulders. Techno twisted to try and put more of the force on his hooves, but he couldn’t keep them from being strained every time his body caught on something hidden under the snow. Each time was a bolt of pain that whited out the edge of his vision and made his stomach turn.

“Quackity!  _ Quackity _ !” Techno yelled, trying to get the man’s attention. To reason or bargain with him, anything, but the thundering sound of Karl’s hooves feet away from his head made it impossible to tell if his shouting was loud enough to carry, or if the rough terrain knocking into him and winding him with regularity was stealing away his volume.

Eventually he had to abandon the attempts altogether. It was a strain to keep the force on his legs rather than his ravaged arms with how the knot was tied, and as the snowy wilderness gave way to more temperate forests, the ground grew less forgiving. Slush was replaced with packed dirt and leaf litter, and the friction tore at what little clothing he had remaining.

Soon, Techno had to spend his entire attention on relieving his arms, and the rest of his energy was spent on blocking out the raking pain of his skin being ground and sanded off his side. Blood speckled the grass behind him and their wake grew more and more red as the friction worked down his skin and branches gouged and clawed him in passing.

He writhed trying to find a position where the drag hit the least amount of vulnerable skin as he could, but when they reached a rockier terrain and his body was knocked and bludgeoned from stone to stone, he gave up altogether and sagged at the pain in exhausted agony. The only thing that had survived the first leg of their trip back was his shirt, and even that was in filthy tatters that resembled cobwebs more than clothing. Bits bit into his skin, either pulled into cuts or making them themselves as it caught on bushes and stones.

The pain was unmanageable. Techno trained hard and fought harder, but the soreness and injuries after a long day or skilled victim was concentrated and localized. Here, his whole body was beaten against the ground like tenderizing meat. By the time Karl’s running slowed down to a walk, Techno was wheezing through the crush of his battered ribs and midriff.

“What did I say? Still in the land of the living.”

Techno took some time to parse the words through the fog of pain. It sounded distant and garbled. “I-”

He coughed trying to speak, spraying a mist of blood onto the slate beneath him.

That was a fair amount of blood, and Techno knew blood.

So much. He had seen that much before. He should be passing out soon, thankfully. Soon.

Any minute now, actually…

Any…

\--

Techno woke before he opened his eyes.

He could feel his battered body throb in sync with his heartbeat. Every pulse that pumped through him seemed to pound into where the bruises pooled blood in his body and the cuts were fresh, remapping him so the focus of his sensitivity was at his back and side.

Even before opening his eyes, he knew that his head was sporting a migraine and not just a terrible headache. He could sense light through his eyelids and already resented it, and when he finally did crack his eyes open, he felt nauseous at the light of the modest campfire before him.

Techno tried to take inventory of himself through the pain. He was still tied, and his hands and feet both felt stiff, but not numb. His shoulder radiated pain, but Techno guessed that Quackity had salvaged him. Otherwise, he wasn’t certain how he didn’t end up bleeding out and dying.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Quackity said as he peeled a roasted potato next to the flames. “And let me tell you; it would be a lot harder to track you down if you died here and resurrected down the ley lines. We don’t have any intention of letting you off that easily.”

“Took you long enough the first time,” Techno croaked. Damn, even his throat felt sore and hoarse.

Quackity hummed a note of laughter and popped a chunk of potato in his mouth thoughtfully. “You know,” he said slowly around the food, “you’ve really run out of friends, here. It’s a tough world when you don’t have allies, even for you.”

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” God, everything hurt. He should be thinking of a plan, but it  _ hurt _ .

“Tubbo still remembers the festival and what you did,” Quackity continued. “And you haven’t really endeared yourself to Ranboo since he came here. Fundy, well… Fundy has his own allegiances, as you know.”

Techno was hardly listening.

“But  _ still _ , I expected more from Phil.”

Techno was _ very closely listening _ . His eyes shot back to Quackity and he strained in his bindings. For the first time, he saw clearly the small trinket in his far hand. A small disc of metal, glass cover flashing in the firelight.

A compass.

“What did you do to him?” Techno demanded. He no longer sounded like a cowed captive, but every bit the threatening warrior his reputation claimed he was. And perhaps he wasn’t in the best position to be making threats, but Techno was willing to lean hard on that reputation if it meant getting answers.

“‘Do to him?’ We didn’t do anything. Do you really think he was on your side this whole time? Even after the election? Your withers?”

“Phil’s not like that. He would  _ never _ .”

“I bet Wilbur thought the same before he was stabbed, too.”

Techno opened his mouth to deny it, but no words came to mind. A sinking, clammy feeling began to take up residence in his gut. Doubt. But no, no not Phil. He wouldn’t. He would never. He helped him move. And it was only now that they got the compass. He wouldn’t.

Unless.

No. No, he wouldn’t.

“He was waiting until he was sure we could take you. Phil’s smart enough to know that an animal like you would turn on him if you suspected anything.”

“You’re wasting your breath.”

He wasn’t. He really wasn’t, but Techno knew that Phil wouldn’t sooner die than betray him. It was unfair of Techno to even consider otherwise, but he was weak and pained from his injuries, and the odds of his escape were already dismally low. He knew he was primed to think the worst and be discouraged, and Phil deserved better than that.

That didn’t make it easier. It just made the guilt worse when his mind supplied every small instance of hardship or inconvenience he’d inflicted upon Phil. And… and of course that wasn’t enough to sway Phil.

But it was enough to render Techno heavy-hearted and silent in his bindings, demoralized.

Even if- no, though- even  _ though  _ Phil didn’t turn on him, what had they done to get the compass? Was Phil okay? Was he even alive? When would he know?

“The rest of us should catch up by morning,” Quackity noted absetly, breaking Techno out of his slow spiral. “We’re not far from town now, but they should be there when we hold court, don’t you think?”

Techno gave a noncommittal grunt.

Quackity turned and considered Techno with cold, shrewd eyes. “You know, I bet you’re starving. You haven’t had anything since we came knocking, have you? Do you want some potato?”

Techno narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “I didn’t expect you to feed me if I’m being honest.”

“We’re not savages-” Quackity began as he brought over a potato near his plate. He lifted it to Techno’s mouth in a clear offer to hand-feed him while he was still bound.

As soon as it was close enough, Techno’s sensitive nose caught the subtle scent of virulent poison, hot in the air like spices. He reared back, wrinkling his face in horror. Quackity followed. “-we’re just butchers.”

“No!” Techno gritted between his teeth, even as Quackity slowly pried his jaws apart. Quackity smashed the potato forward, knocking into Techno’s teeth and tusks as he forced it into his mouth. All the while, Techno gagged and shook his head desperately to avoid ingesting the toxins.

He recognized that smell. He had the misfortune of such a poison before, when he was new to harvesting his crops in retirement. Techno sorely did not want a repeat performance.

But it did not look like that would matter. Quackity only managed to force perhaps half of the potato into his mouth before Techno clamped his jaw shut fully, but that was enough. Quackity held his hand at Techno’s mouth and throat, bracing his mouth shut until he was sure that Techno would have swallowed.

When he was sure the sickness would take effect, Quackity stepped back, his smile thin and sharp like a blade.

“Good night, Techno. We’re probably going to have an early morning. Try to get plenty of sleep. You’re going to have a big day.”

Quackity patted his side in mock friendliness before departing. Techno, body wrecked and stomach already starting to roil and cramp against the rot, was left to his own devices as Quackity sprawled out to doze across the dwindling campfire.


	2. Art Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am in paaain after today's stream so you get some Abattoir-themed vent art. A depiction of Techno's physical interpretation in this as well as a demonstration of the hogtie in previous chapter, because as my beta pointed out, not everyone is a fuckin furry and knows what a 'dew claw' is offhand.


	3. A Stay of Execution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ride to L'Manberg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay and shorter chapter. I think I'll be chopping this story up into longer, kink-centric chapters to structure this in a way that makes it easier to produce, since I'm balancing this with my other stories.

The morning was a nightmare.

Techno didn’t sleep at all. The poisoned potato was a nasty strain that had him throwing up his stomach contents until he could only spit out watery yellow bile. By the time the moon was directly above him, Techno’s back and sides were twitching from the force of his dry heaving and he was bleeding afresh from the effort. The smell of stomach acid clinging to his hair made his nose wrinkle in disgust, but he couldn’t brush it away from where it stuck to his cheek with his hands still bound.

The migrain returned with a vengeance as well. The cool dark of night had granted him a short reprieve, and the pain died down to a tolerable throb. However, when the sun finally broke the horizon, the glare of the light hit like two rail spikes being driven through his eyes.

The only saving grace Techno had was that he managed to squirm his way still bound to a snowbank hidden in the shade of a tree that was left unmelted. He first nuzzled his face into the snow, washing away sweat, blood and vomit, before finding a clean heap and taking a few mouthfuls.

It tasted fresh and bracing and a bit metallic, but that could be fresh blood from his busted lip. In either case, he was careful to hold the cold water in his mouth for a moment before swallowing down greedily. He didn’t want to go into whatever gauntlet was waiting for him dehydrated on top of hungry, tired and beaten, but he didn’t want to do their job for them and end up dying to hypothermia before they noticed, either.

“Trying to run, then?” Fundy asked as the rest of the kidnapping party pushed their way into the camp clearing. Quackity stirred, still dozing on the ground.

“‘S not gonna be able to get far like that,” he reasoned. “You all took your time, didn’t you?”

“We didn’t have a horse,” Tubbo reminded him.

Ranboo took the opportunity to ask, “Can one of us ride in to L’Manberg, then? I don’t care if I’m dragging him behind or not. We’ve been walking all night.”

“No,” Quackity said firmly. He was sitting up now, and Techno didn’t like how his voice sounded like he had a plan. He especially didn’t like the hungry look on Quackity’s face as he stared at Techno. “I think Technoblade could use a break. He’ll be riding in.”

Ranboo made a low noise of disapproval, but Techno was convinced it was more about wanting a break from walking than it was against whatever torment Quackity would devise.

Fundy dragged Techno back to the center of camp and he and the other abductors spent the morning recouping. While the rest rested, Quackity pulled out a log of the firewood and the lead that wasn’t being occupied with trussing Techno up. Techno leveraged himself to his side, leaning against one of the stumps Quackity made getting firewood the previous night, and watched him now pull his axe from his satchel.

Techno may have needed sleep, but the thought of a vengeful Quackity so close to him with an axe did not inspire drowsiness in him, and so Techno opted to watch his enemy carefully in hopes that he could prepare himself for whatever torment was waiting in the wings for him.

Quackity said nothing as he lined up a log of firewood on another stump and wedged his axe down and through it. It splintered down its grain, and Quackity picked it up and inspected it carefully. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to be left wanting, as Techno heard him make a hum of disappointment and throw the split pieces of his shoulder before continuing.

Techno felt his furred ears pull back slightly in anxiety watching Quackity go through two, then three, before picking up a split log and smiling wide in approval. What? What was it? A steak? A club? Quackity put it back on the stump and drove his axe in again width-wise, shaping the wood with an uncanny focus.

“Quackity,” Techno said, quietly. “Quackity, you know I Haven’t been to L’Manberg since the withers. I had no intention of coming back.”

Quackity didn’t so much as look at him. Instead, he was cutting notches into the wood and measuring out lengths of the lead.

“You don’t have to do this. You can just let me go, and you’ll never have to see me again. I’m not a threat.”

“You’ll always be a threat.” Quackity brought the axe down on one piece of the lead. “Always. Until we stop you. And this isn’t just about what you might do. It’s about what you did.”

Chop. Another length of rope, and Quackity began to judge their lengths, tying them together and around the marked log.

“You’re not punishing the same person who set off those withers.”

“I don’t really care.”

“You’re not preventing-”

“Techno,” Quackity said, turning to him at last with a laugh in his voice. “I’m using you. Don’t you get that? I’m using you, because when they see what we’ve done to you, they know what’s going to happen to them if they try to challenge L’Manberg like you did.”

Techo watched, stunned, as Quackity brought his contraption to Carl’s saddle. The wood sat lengthwise down the center of the seat and the rope cinched around Carl’s girth like another saddle strap. When it was tightened, the wood’s steep peak sat pointing skywards.

“No,” Techno muttered in disbelief.

Quackity clapped Carl on his haunches cheerfully, and turned to Techno with a broad grin.

“Time to mount up!”

\--

The trip into L’Manberg was a fog of pain.

He was certain he preferred being dragged.

Fundy and Ranboo had helped Quackity re-tie his bindings, each bracing the limb while the lead was looped around to keep him from lashing out and getting free. It allowed him to sit up straight instead of the perpetual vulnerable arc his arms pulled so far back forced him, though Quackity had goaded Tubbo into kicking his unguarded belly before they did. That was completely insubstantial compared to Quackity’s design, but it was an insult to injury that it was Tubbo of all people to do it.

They kept his thighs bound to his shins and his arms crossed behind his back still, so when they lifted him onto Carl’s back, the point of the contraption dug into the flesh between his legs. His whole weight rested down a thin line at his perineum and across his sack when he pitched forward from the dizzying pain. Before Carl even took a step, the dull push up into his core felt more like a knife driving into him. Techno mistook the cold sweat running down his stomach and thighs for blood, and checked to see if he had been cleaved down the center.

No blood. It was just shy enough from the sharpness needed to actually cut his flesh under the weight, but the pressure still felt like a spike tearing upwards.

He surprised  _ himself  _ the first time he screamed. Carl had to ascend a short slope, and though the pain that came from the slow undulation of his walk was agonizing, the sudden jolt of the horse pushing upwards in the fight against interia felt like Quackity’s axe was being driven upwards into his groin. It was such a sudden, impossible ache that Techno reflexively shrieked, and the rest of the way up the hill there were hands on either side of him pushing him upright as he swayed and threatened to faint.

Acid burned at the back of his throat, gurgling up like the wedge driving up and into him was forcing up everything else. If he hadn’t been so sick the night before, he was certain he would be now. As it was, the only thing he could manage was the chain of weak, shuddering dry heaves, unproductive and miserable.

“We should have brought a horse,” Fundy noted as he shoved Techno back upright. “We’re not fast enough now, but we could have trotted him the whole way back. Imagine the noises he’d make.”

By the time they made it to the city limits, Techno’s thighs were trembling from exhaustion. He didn’t have much leverage to shift on top of the makeshift wooden horse, but if he tensed his legs, he could relieve some of the pressure from his groin. They twitched and spasmed like a horse trying to shake off a fly, and it had already been a half-dozen times they gave out completely, burning and limp.

The last mile was the hardest as Carl transitioned from the softer dirt and grass to the wood and stone paving that lead to the town square. Each step hit the solid ground, and the force traveled up Carl’s leg and jerked into Techno in shallow thrusts. He focused on his breathing, repeated mantras in his head, fixated on a flag or garden arrangement or shopfront or anything on the way to distract from the incessant, deep gouging that slowly bisected him.

At last they dragged him down to his feet as they reached the edge of town. Techno had buckled when he hit the ground, but Fundy’s and Tubbo’s grip on him hauled him back up once, twice, until his legs would shakily hold his weight.

He was very, very careful not to look at the people watching on. He didn’t know if they’d be pleased or horrified, and he didn’t want to know. He didn’t know which would be worse. Pleased, probably. His pride wouldn’t like it if they were horrified, but it should be pleased, because if they were horrified then they might do something about it.

But really, Techno knew the score.

No one would be coming for someone like him.

Except, maybe-

“Techno!”

Techno looked up, startled out of his pain-fueled trance, and snapped to attention towards where the sound was coming.

“Phil?”

Phil stood on his balcony, face strained in worry. It had been some time since Techno had seen him look like that. They’ve been through so much together, so much foreseeable misery, but Techno had long since earned Phil’s respect and those hardships were weathered together with a grim kind of humor. To see him looking concerned like Techno was an adolescent again made his very core shudder. But he was safe.

“They found it! I swear I didn’t give it to them, I didn’t-”

(And of _course_ he didn't. Of course.)

“You’re still under house arrest Philza. Go back inside.”

Tubbo of all people pulled his crossbow with his words and trained it on Phil. Phil went silent and remained still, and Techno could picture how he’d have gripped the railing to his balcony harder as his only tell of fear.

“I’m still on my property, Mr. President,” Phil shouted back, his words dripping in a scathing sarcasm.

Techno could see Tubbo’s muscles work before he saw the trigger finger pull, and he thrust his shoulder back against Tubbo to make him stagger as the arrow was loosed. It plunked into the balcony’s door frame, where Phil retrieved it and slipped it into his own quiver.

Ranboo spoke then, looking between Techno and Phil with a dubious expression. “I’m… going to go make sure Phil stays in place. He might get heated when things get a little heavy.”

“Probably for the best,” Quackity agreed. “I hope you like sloppy seconds, then.”

“That’s… that’s alright. You go on without me.”

Quackity turned and gripped Techno by the fringe at his hairline, wrenching his head up to look at Quackity directly. “Suit yourself. You’ll have plenty of time to use him later,” he called over his shoulder, and then drew closer and grew quiet so he was speaking to Techno himself. “You’re going to have plenty of time to get to know him and everyone else in L’Manberg, Techno. Know why?”

Techno said nothing and narrowed his eyes. His heart was pounding, adrenaline pouring into his blood, but he was naked and outnumbered and in the middle of enemy territory, and bound and could hardly stand for the pain still throbbing between his legs. The Blood God persona that acted as a bulwark from most conflicts was paper-thin from his ordeal, and Techno grimly admitted to himself that it would probably not last much longer.

Quackity flashed his teeth at him like a predator trying to smile. He twisted Techno’s face to the center of the town square, to the wood-and-metal installation there on the docks, set in full view of the rows of seats similar to those before the podium. So close to where he had built his withers.

There, on stage, was a freshly-built stockade.

“Because  _ now _ , Techno, you’re governmental property. And you’re going to provide a  _ public service _ .”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I started writing this I have become Attached to Ranboo, so I had him peace out with the idea that he was uncomfortable with all of this and was doing it because ~peer pressure~. Not that I have anthing against Quackity, Fundy or Tubbo.
> 
> Not a super busy chapter, but an important intermediate part. Because why time skip when you can torment? Next chapter should be a bit meatier.


	4. Two Iron in a Diagonal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quackity and Fundy work on making Techno look presentable. As governmental property, he should at least try to pass as human. They can help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOOO okay so both my betas tapped out so enjoy my Raw Grammar.
> 
> We start to shed a little blood here my friends. Just a warning/reminder to head the tags.

He had retired.

It was a bitter thought. Techno had  _ retired _ , and the hardest exercise he has been getting was tending to his farm. It was a far cry from the pattern of martial exercises he used to do every morning and every night. And while it was a stretch to say he was out of shape, he was  _ rusty _ .

Not that it mattered.

Quackity led him around to the far side of the stockades by the grip in his hair while Fundy and Tubbo held him by his bound wrists. Techno’s eyes darted to find some weak point to the stocks before he was trapped, a grove in the wood or a loose nail, but there was nothing. Nothing. His panic spiked, and he lurched back, pushing Tubbo over entirely and pulling out of Fundy’s paws.

He just wanted a bit more time, just the chance to find something that he could use to his advantage, some sort of in. He didn’t expect to get away. He wasn’t  _ trying  _ to get away. So it felt petty and punitive when Quackity pulled so hard on the hank of hair he had that Techno could hear dozens of strands snap from the force. In a moment, he dragged Techno’s head forward and pushed his throat into the semicircle of wood, clipping his chin in the process.

“If you try anything like that again, I’ll have Philza standing right here, taking twice whatever we give to you,” Quackity promised in a hiss.

His face was inches from Techno, and Techno’s gored someone’s eye out with his tusks lunging from farther away. He could do it. He could. It was right  _ there _ . But the thought of subjecting Phil to anything more than whatever he had endured when he lost the compass made Techno’s chest clench.

For a long moment, they locked eyes, until Techno’s gaze dropped down, and he went limp against the grip, save holding his head up enough to keep the weight from pulling at his scalp any more than needed.

“Go ahead. Untie him and put his hands in.” Techno could hear the smugness in Quackity’s voice, and his pride rumbled somewhere low and suppressed in him, wounded and furious.

With the build of the stockades, Techno’s head was pulled down past level with his waist, and he found himself stepping away and bowing his back to balance the best he could. It was just too high to kneel, but he couldn’t fully stand either, and Techno felt another wave of panic. He had spent time in stress positions before when he was fighting in the Antarctic Rebellion, and he hated it. He hated it more than any other torment that they had visited upon him. There was no tormentor, not really. They could truss him up and leave him there and it was just his own weight, his own fatigue, his own muscles that hurt him. And it  _ hurt _ .

The time it would take for this stance to get him sweating from pain was measured in hours. They could leave him here, come back in a few days, and when they did he’d be either perfectly cooperative or dead. Most likely dead.

And most infuriatingly, they probably did it on  _ accident _ .

“I hope you aren’t planning on keeping me here for long,” he rasped. “In about four hours my legs are going to give out for good, and I’m going to choke on my own body weight. I don’t think you intend for that to happen.”

The stocks closed with a chop so final it might as well have been a guillotine. Quackity finally released his hair and pat his cheek with the mock-friendliness that made Techno inwardly seethe. “No, but it’ll be funny to watch before we step in.”

Techno screwed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth. If he didn’t, he’d be tempted to start screaming at Quackity, and that wasn’t useful. Instead he tested the give that his wrists and neck had in their prison. Either hand had maybe half an inch, but there was no way he was going to be able to get his hooved fingers through. Even if he pulped the bones in his hand enough to squeeze the claws together, it would be shattered enough that he wouldn’t be able to hold a quill, let alone a sword, and then what good would it be?

His neck wasn’t in a much better position. There was enough give that he knew he was going to get blisters at his nape by the end of this, and his jaws were too wide to even start pulling himself out. Techno dug his hooves into the ground and pushed forward slowly, careful not to look like he was trying to escape, before going lax.

No give to the wooden poles keeping the stocks in place. Not even the creak of wood straining. It was, unfortunately, very well-crafted.

“This is going to get in the way, now,” Quackity said, almost to himself, as he lifted the hank of pale-pink hair he had yanked earlier. “Tubbo? Can you get the shears?”

Tubbo walked past the stockade and past Techno’s line of sight. Techno grimaced to himself as he heard Tubbo rooting around somewhere behind him, the clinking of metal and shifting of the unknown. His hooves shifted and clapped against the wooden stage, anxious, frenzied energy simmering under Techno’s better judgement.

He didn’t really care about his hair, except for that it was  _ his _ . It grew quickly, so he clipped it short when Phil and he were staying someplace warm, but since moving to the tundra he had let it grow out as just another layer of insulation against the snow. Here, now, he felt immensely childish at how upset the idea of it being taken was.

Out of everything, the clippers ‘schikt’ing in the glinting sunlight shouldn’t have been the thing that made Techno’s rage wither into something retreating and toothless. It should have been the pain, the violation of his home and territory, his public nakedness. Something significant and offensive and worthy of retribution.

Quackity pulled a handful of his hair away from his scalp, slid the shear blade between scalp and hair, and cut.

But this would  _ last _ .

Techno felt the wall of grim indignation start to crumble. This would  _ last _ , and there was nothing he could do. A great despair lurked behind his facade, behind his title, behind the rage that helped him always move forward, always swing stronger, always fight harder. This wasn’t something that could be forgotten about tomorrow. It wasn’t something he could fight or escape, and when was the last time he had been truly helpless?

When was the last time there was nothing he could  _ do _ ?

He had forgotten. He’d forgotten what it was like to have to cope with tyrants. He had sworn, he’d  _ sworn  _ that he wouldn’t let himself ever be put in that position again. And yet here he was.

_ Chkt. Chkt. _

Walls of hair fell around his periphery while he stared ahead, stunned at the loss, at the fact that they were  _ changing  _ him. His eyes burned, but no. He wouldn’t give Quackity the satisfaction. If there was anything that he had left to buffer him from resignation, it was spite.

They weren’t careful, either. Several times the tip of the blades sliced into his scalp, and the shorter, patchy hair left behind was mottled red. It wasn’t deep or dangerous, but Techno knew how badly head wounds bleed, and wasn’t surprised when he felt the creeping itch of blood as it pooled at his ears and slowly dribbled down his forehead.

He didn’t scream until the shears closed around his loose hanging ears and snapped through them like they were cloth. Techno cut the scream off, clenched and breathed through his teeth, hissing as he gulped down air to control himself. It was far from the worst pain he’s felt, but the casual clumsiness of it was insulting.

“Hey, I think you had something there!” Fundy said, pointing at the side of Techno’s face.

Quackity finished the rough cut with a final clip. “What’s that?”

“I’m a fox, but that doesn’t mean I want to fuck  _ other  _ animals.”

Techno shrank back, feeling the back of his head make contact with the stocks as he reached the limit of his movement. Quackity turned back to him and his face slowly lit up in comprehension. “Ah. Yeah, I think we can make him more presentable.”

The shears came back to his face, and Techno turned his head reflexively to try and protect his ears, but as soon as he blocked one, Quackity just moved his attention to the other.

“Brace his head for me,” Quackity instructed.

Fundy complained, “I want to watch.”

“Tubbo, then?” Quackity motioned to him with his free hand and Tubbo stepped forward. Techno could see him looking uncertain and queasy, but Quackity either didn’t or ignored it. “You can just put your knee on his cheek and push it against the stocks.”

“Please don’t. Tubbo. Please,” Techno whispered up to him, even as Tubbo pushed Techno’s head to the side. His body blocked the view of the shears and Quackity’s no-doubt malicious smile, but Techno could feel Quackity’s hand picking up and maneuvering his folded piglin ears.

Once, he had hated them, and complained to Phil about how they were useless and got in the way, and how cold they got in the winter, and how the other humans could tell he was Other even from behind with how they stuck out. Since then, he’s grown to appreciate them. He pierced them, adorned them with gold and gemstones, and even enjoyed plucking at them absently as a habit to keep his hands busy while he was reading or thinking heavily.

“Tubbo please, please,” his voice grew more urgent, frantic as the metal edge lifted up the handing skin just out of sight. He hated the desperation in his voice and the sting at the corner of his eyes. It occurred to him that he had killed Tubbo not far from here, but he didn’t have a choice, and he didn’t make him suffer. Tubbo was better than petty revenge. “Tubbo, you can stop-”

The shears slapped shut, and Techno choked on the pain. He would scream, but he couldn’t breathe. The cycle of inhaling and exhaling had been interrupted by the bone-deep horror, and the blades met again, partially folding apart. The cartilage was hard to cut through cleanly, and Quackity had to crush through the structure there and work the blade through it.

At some point, Quackity pulled the loose ear taught and changed to shorter cuts towards the base of the shears, trying to gnaw through the flesh where it was sharpest. Techno couldn’t  _ breathe _ . The shears finally sawed their way through the toughest band of cartilage and cut a long diagonal line outward down the length of Techno’s ear as the force followed through the final cut. An inch, maybe two, of flesh was cleaved apart, until Techno could feel something  _ dangling _ .

When Quackity turned the shears to align for a second cut, Techno found his voice.

“Please! Tubbo, I’m sorry!” he begged in a harsh whisper. If he blinked, he would be crying. And if he was crying, Quackity would get him sobbing, and  _ fast _ . The pain was terrible, but the mounting fear and grief of just how vulnerable he was in this situation hit him. They could do anything. They  _ would  _ do anything.

But he could still go free. His hair would regrow. He could stitch his ear up. It would scar, but what’s another scar? He could- he could-

The sound of metal on metal clashing never sounded so loud in battle as it did when the shears closed next to his mutilated ear. The sound was quiet, but too close. A shouted whisper.

“Please,  _ please _ .”

Tubbo stepped away, and Quackity was indistinguishable for a moment, backlit by the sun so he appeared as just an indistinct black silhouette. Techno’s eyes adjusted, and suddenly the ravaged, gnarled scrap of what was once his ear was held out inches from his face.

His vision swam. His cheeks were wet. Fundy’s cheering and the ambient sound of L’Manberg around him was dampened on his left side where the blood caught in the shell of what remained of his carved up ear. The only thing he could clearly hear was his own stunned, rattling breathing, labored and pained.

Techno’s world narrowed to the stench of ripe iron.

Tubbo turned Techno’s head, pressing his stumpy ear between the wood and Techno’s cheek. It smelled like a battlefield, which was almost a comfort. It smelled like blood. Cloying and heavy.

He was supposed to be retired.

This wasn’t  _ fair _ .

And wasn’t that a petulant thought? What did he  _ expect _ ?

The second cropping wasn’t quite as scuffed. Quackity pulled the loose flesh taut to begin with and levered the shear blades so they sliced together, even through the tough cartilage. It shore through to the other side completely, which was actually less painful than the botched job that split the first one almost in two.

Quackity angled the shears to curve the cut again, mimicking a human’s shape, and ran his finger over the open wound when he was done. “We might still be able to make you pass as a real person at this rate!”

Quackity spend some time pinching and worrying at the wound, soaking up the strangled keens of pain he pulled out of Techno. When he was done, probably from boredom, he wiped his soaked fingers on Techno’s cheek, leaving an itchy film of drying blood there like war paint.

“I don’t know,” Fundy said. “I think he still has a long way to go.”

“You think?”

“That tail, for example.”

Techno clenched his fists, even as they hung uselessly at their own holes in the stockades. A few tears fell then, but he was looking at the stage floor so they made no tracks. They just plopped heavily onto the wood, and maybe, hopefully, it wouldn’t be noticed in the excitement of yet another  _ amputation  _ to be performed.

“Break it first, or there’s no way we can cut through the bone,” Quackity suggested even as Fundy walked out of sight as Tubbo had before. This time, however, Techno could gauge where Fundy went from his footsteps and the vibrations running up from the flooring. Techno could feel Fundy’s presence around Techno’s hip, hovering almost close enough to touch.

Fundy’s rough paw pads rested on the shoulder blade closest to him. He stroked down the length of Techno’s spine, following the dip at the small of his back, and trailed his curved claws over the skin until the stopped at the base of Techno’s tail. Fundy moved down further, cupping and then squeezing the globe of Techno’s ass briefly. He returned to the task at hand before Techno could even process the touch and start thrashing at such an intimacy.

The tail didn’t have any curl to it, and Techno could barely move it at all. Unfortunately, just because it was vestigial didn’t mean it wasn’t sensitive, and Fundy’s paw wrapping tight around the base was a very real threat.

“You know, it’s almost a shame. It would make a good handle,” Fundy thought out loud, tugging at the root as if testing its strength. Techno grunted. The thing was an extension of his  _ spine _ .

Quackity looked over Techno’s head to where Fundy was. “Count it down.”

“Three,” Fundy supplied, and Techno could feel him yanking his tail to its full length. Something brushed against where it met with the base of his pelvis, and a cold sweat made Techno shiver.

“Two.” Whatever was touching him was pulled away and returned with a light tap. A blade, maybe. Or a hammer.

“And-”

There was a crack and a blinding jolt of pain that sapped away his lucidity in an instant.

Techno’s eyes rolled back. There was just a moment of vertigo before he fell into black.


	5. Babirusa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quackity's last attempt at humanizing Techno fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per usual, note new tags and expect old ones again.

Frigid water brought him back to the world in a shock.

Techno’s muscles jumped under the sudden cold and he reared back. The back of his head hit the wood of the stocks with enough force that he almost knocked himself out again, but he had no such luck.

The sun was beginning to set, but it was still light out. He hadn’t been unconscious for long, but he quickly discerned that his captors had been keeping busy. His throat felt like it had been punched, and there was an extra bundle of wool between his neck and the stock’s hold for it.

 _Probably hanged myself for a second there,_ Techno thought. It troubled him intellectually that he didn’t feel the fear and concern that that realization definitely merited, but then he knew that was probably going to happen, and warned them as much. Somewhere behind him, Fundy pulled out whatever they had shoved under him, probably a chair, to keep him from sagging down, and Techno scrambled to regain his footing.

There was another agony just below the small of his back. It was the kind of wound that probably felt larger than it was, the kind where a brush of breeze glancing off the raw nerves would burn like a fire and crackle out in a painful aura. It felt the size of his hand with stretched out fingers, but knowing the size of his tail- where his tail used to be- it was likely no larger than two or three inches. Maybe larger if they had peeled away the skin around the wound like a poorly-done skinning, but not much larger.

Between the different points of pain and the cold, it took Techno some time to even notice the length of wood wedged in his mouth. It rested lengthwise against the back of his tusks, thick enough that he couldn’t clear it over the height of his tusks or pushed it out one side or another with his tongue. When he tried chewing it experimentally, Quackity slapped him absently with the hand that wasn’t still holding the water bucket.

“We’re going to need that,” he warned, before tossing the bucket to the side. Quackity turned away and went to a crafting bench that had been set up near the row of seats. Techno watched as his fingers brushed against the collection of tools hanging from the side. He hovered over the saw, then the hammer, and finally selected the large tong pliers, lifting them up and clacking them in the air as if to test them.

Techno couldn’t speak with the wood pinning his tongue down as it was, but he could make a low noise of disapproval. He might not know what the plan was, but could imagine that whatever it was would end up being incredibly painful. Perhaps the cold soaking into him and making his limbs go numb was a blessing in disguise; at least he wouldn’t have to feel flesh wounds as acutely.

Quackity kneeled so he was almost face-to-face with Techno, looking up at him actually as he examined Techno’s face. Or… something on his face. Quackity’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully and he tilted his head as if inspecting something curious. It was only when he stuck out his thumb next to Techno’s tusk, measuring its thickness, did Techno gather his next plan.

“Hnn-!” He couldn’t say anything, let alone do anything. Techno was furious at himself when he caught that he was actually frustrated that he couldn’t beg. Shame welled up in him, overtaking the fear. Techno certainly dreaded the pain, sure, but the humiliation of being so helpless and exposed, and having part of him pared away like he was a plant to be pruned made him feel like he was drowning.

Quackity swung the pliers up, fitted them around the base of one tusk, and pulled. Of course it wasn’t coming out like that. A piglin’s tusk was rooted deep in their jaw and required more force than even a normal tooth did. What it did do was _hurt_ , and Techno let out a tight, shrill whimper through his nose. Humiliating. Painful and humiliating, and miserably beyond his control.

After the fourth yank, and subsequent forth pitiful pained noise, Quackity let the pliers drop. “If you keep making those sounds, Techno, you’re going to get me to jump straight into the fun.”

He stood, leaned forward, and Techno could feel the hardened outline of Quackity’s cock as he ground it against Techno’s face. The scent of skin and sweat flooded Techno, choking him and making him wince at the visceral threat. He tried to turn away, to lean back and use what little space the stocks afforded him to escape, but Quackity put a hand on the back of his head and pushed his face forward to meet him.

“I’m already ready,” Fundy said somewhere out of Techno’s line of sight. “Want me to start cleaning him up?”

“Soon, but not yet. Give me some help with the tusks.”

Fundy came to stand next to Quackity, but Quackity indulged in rubbing himself against Techno’s face for a few more shallow thrusts. The outline of the bulge brushed over Techno’s lips, and he could feel the heat of it in his mouth and taste the musk on his tongue.

“God, I’m going to enjoy you so much, man,” Quackity muttered down to him.

Techno gave a short exhale, a scoff, the most defiance he would risk. The Fundy’s rough paws were at his face, keeping it still as quackity picked up the pliers again. They clamped the tusk once more, and with the both of them pulling and twisting the tusk up and back, Techno could feel the root beginning to give, and the ligaments and nerves snapping at last.

He couldn’t force down the loud, ragged howl of pain. Not with the wood forcing his jaws apart. It shuddered out of him alongside his stuttered breathing, only interrupted when the flow of blood from the new wound trickled down his throat, tickling over his gag reflex. He coughed, and the mist of blood speckled Quackity’s apron like blush.

“We’re going to have to work on that,” Quackity said.

Fundy moved to the other side with Quackity, swinging the bloodied pliers as he went. “Work on what?”

“His gag reflex.”

Quackity and Fundy fixed the pliers around the second tusk, and Techno screwed his face up tight as the pull began. It came out smoother now that the duo had a better idea of how much force was needed, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. Techno could feel the wood splintering as he bit down on the wedge, and the bits of flesh sticking to the bony spurs of the tooth removed any illusion that the second pull was any less of a hack job.

Blood welled and bubbled like a faucet, filling up behind Techno’s lips and under his tongue, soaking into the wooden wedge and pouring down his throat swallow after swallow. The holes left behind by the tusks were deeper and wider than a normal tooth, and in the haze of pain, Techno found himself deliriously fascinated at how light his head felt between being shorn and de-fanged. A high, manic note of laughter tinted his howling, and the blood mixed with saliva foamed at the corner of his lips, where it pooled on his tongue, at the tip of his nose when he coughed and sputtered up the thick, sticky drainage sliding back past his soft palate.

Blood was all he could taste. All he could smell. It was claustrophobia inducing, caged in by his keenest senses, his world narrowing to iron and violence.

His knees buckled, and someone- Tubbo, probably- behind the stocks heaved his hips back into the air and shoved the chair back under his belly, propping him up while he was still too faint to keep his footing. A light slap to his thigh encouraged him, and Techno’s hooves found purchase on the stage floor again.

“What do you think, boys?” Quackity said at last, gesturing to Techno’s blood-streaked face.

Fundy came to stand next to him, then Tubbo, who looked reluctant and ill. Between the three of them, Techno couldn’t see the rest of L’Manberg, or the sky, or anything but his three tormentors. Couldn’t smell anything past the blood, and only heard the rhythmic throb at his ears that narrowed his world down to the pain of his body and the bleak future pain that would be visited upon him.

He hoped Phil was there, watching. It was selfish, but he didn’t want to be alone.

Quackity reached forward and cupped under Techno’s jaw, pulling his face up to look him in the eye by his chin. A look of glee brightened his face, and Techno _hated_ that toothy smile. “Look! He’s crying!”

Fundy cackled beside him, and Quackity joined. Quackity’s hand shifted up to wipe at the corner of Techno’s eye, and he briefly pantomimed gouging Techno’s eye. When Techno slammed backwards, knocking his head again against the stocks with his raw shout of terror, and Quackity let Techno go in favor of wrapping his arms around his stomach, doubled over in laughter.

“Did you see his face?” Quackity gasped between fits of giggles. Fundy was right the next to him, barking peels of laughter as his tail thrashed. “He really _thought_ . Oh no, no, no. I want you to see _everything_.”

The spike of fury that ran through him made Techno see red, a sputter of fight left in him as he sunk deeper into the caught feeling of prey. He wanted to gore them. He really wanted to bisect them with a hatchet, but he’d settle for goring them. Now he couldn’t so much as bite them. And he was used to injustice- the world didn’t turn for people like him- but feeling cornered and wounded his instincts surged to the fore. Techno dug his hooves in and lunged.

The stocks shuddered, but did not yield. Exhaustion, hunger, thirst, and pain all converged on him. Maybe if he was healthy and fit and not faint from _blood loss_ and not having just been _retired_ , maybe then he’d have a chance.

“He’s not human,” Quackity decided with a nod.

“He’s not a _person_ ,” Fundy corrected him with a flick of his (not _mutilated_ , the _bastard_ ) ear. “You know how they are. They don’t care unless it’s about gold.”

Techno chewed on the wooden slab to vent his rage. Fundy of all people should know better, but then if all of L’Manberg’s ire was focused on _the pig_ , maybe that would keep their attention away from other inhumans. It would track that Fundy would throw him under the cart like that. Techno was glad Wilbur wasn’t alive to see his son now.

“I think maybe I should take a step back?”

Quackity and Fundy looked to Tubbo, whose voice cracked and warbled with uncertainty. “I just mean, it might seem a little sus if the president is also the one-”

He made a gesture towards the stocks, and Quackity looked back at Techno. His eyes narrowed as Quackity admitted, “True, true. We don’t want him to look like a martyr. This is justice.”

If Techno had it in him to laugh, he would have.

Tubbo passed out of Techno’s line of sight, footsteps growing fainter on the wooden dias’ flooring, and Quackity closed in on him again.

“You’re right. He’s not a person,” Quackity agreed, and pointed past the stocks. “I think it’s time we stop trying to make him into one. The needle, then.”

Fundy’s claws clattered on the ground to the supplies stored out of view and returned shortly. There, he presented Quackity with a long, pale cactus spine. It glinted, polished sharp and threatening as it caught the sunset’s glare.

“Pig it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for yet again another short chapter. The last full week of the month keeps me very busy at my job, and I do a fair bit of writing there when I get the chance. I've been looking forward to the next few chapters, though! And I finally got Tubbo out of the way along with Ranboo, so we can start stepping up the sexual content without being sketch.
> 
> Also, fun fact: Babirusas have been my favorite animal for years! I got to see some at the Wild Kingdom when I visited Disney and it was an amazing experience.
> 
> also, have a [quackity song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YLaYB0ZkQOM) from this fic to vibe with


	6. Gammon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quackity prepares this pig for consumption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those who left comments on my last chapter:
> 
> Thank you so much, and very sorry for my delayed response! I was having ~anxiety~ like you do, and reserving responses until I could post a new chapter was good incentive to power through that and deliver to y'all some more torment. Let the suffering of our favorite porcine pvper be the interest on that debt ;3
> 
> also a reminded that both my betas tapped out of this. Which, yknow that's fair lol, but means adjust grammatical expectations accordingly
> 
> I AM LOOKING FOR A MCYT DISCORD SERVER TO CALL HOME. I'd like to find a place where there is a space for talking about this kind of fic, as well as a place to chill and talk lore and art, etc. Preferably 18+.

Quackity pierced his nose. The jab through his septum was a single fearless punch, clearly not concerned with botching the procedure considering the needle sliced the edge of the far nostril as it exited. That wasn’t much of a surprise. The needle was thicker than a traditional sewing needle, but Quackity still had to rotate and twist it still embedded in the cartilage to widen the hole, and Techno cringed at the damage.

Piglin noses were more sensitive than a human’s nose for scent, but were heartier than average otherwise. Even Techno’s, whose nose was more stubbed and humanoid than his distant kin in the Nether. They didn’t even recognize his face as piglin on sight. Still, Quackity could hook a finger on either side of the septum’s piercing and yank, and it would hurt, yes,  _ tremendously  _ so, but that seemed to be as much of a perk to Quackity as not. More importantly, the piercing may stretch, but the skin would remain whole and intact.

Quackity did not just pull at the fresh piercing, however. Either he wasn’t aware of how resilient that part of Techno’s anatomy was, or he enjoyed the gradual, incremental widening of the shallow twists and light tugs. Or maybe he couldn’t get a good grip on it. After all, Quackity’s hand was blood-soaked up to the wrist, and Techno had to breathe through his mouth because of the thick clotting that clogged his nasal passage. Blood dribbled over his upper lip in a steady trickle, catching on his bottom teeth where they remained forced open, and when he coughed, flecks splattered at the butcher’s apron before him.

“Augh,  _ disgusting _ ,” Quackity complained, stepping back to wipe at the blood. Fundy returned to Quackity as he smeared the blood on his thigh.

Fundy handed over what looked to be a few wide iron rings. The largest was roughly the width of his palm and as thick as a finger, with the next largest half the size. He looked down at Techno with his ruff prickling up and his jowls half-drawn to bare sharp little teeth. “The brand should be ready by the time his tongue is done.”

Brand? A  _ brand _ ?

Technoblade choked on the blood and the fucking audacity. It was one thing to beat him, to humiliate and grind him down with senseless pain, to chop bits of him off, but the thought now of a mark of ownership, declaring him chattel? He breathed hard enough to clear out his airways of blood, harsh hiss of fury now a bellow that started in his chest. A growl rumbled out from him like canvas ripping, all violence and threat and power.

Quackity clicked his tongue at the display and slapped him, clearly not impressed. “I don’t know why we bothered. Just listen to him. That’s not a person,” Quackity said almost to himself as he fed the largest of the rings into Techno’s mouth. The ring hooked behind his upper canines, not quite large enough to be proper tusks themselves, but long enough to keep the ring from slipping forward as it was pried into the pits of where his actual tusks used to be. “We could still tag him if we left the ears.”

Fundy pulled the wooden wedge out through the side, heedless of the rough splinters cutting through Techno’s gums and tongue and at the roof of his mouth. Techno’s mouth clamped down on the ring, the strain in his jaw from being forced so wide for so long keeping him from opening it wider and pushing the ring out. When Fundy stuck one claw in Techno’s mouth to fish his tongue out from under the ring, Techno found to his dismay that he couldn’t make the sleek new gag so much as budge. He thrashed his head and tried to curl his tongue back to push the ring out to the side, but to no avail. Exhausted, Techno sagged in the stocks, resigned to the mix of saliva and blood pooling under his tongue and at his lips and chin. Strands of drool dangled down as the ring pushed against the soft underside of Techno’s tongue.

Quackity’s hand grasped under his chin, lifting his face so Techno was looking glassy-eyed up at him. With his other, he pulled the needle free and exchanged it with one of the smaller rings, which had a small notch in it just big enough to allow it to feed through the hole. The metal jabbed blindly at the wound until it lined up correctly and Quackity could roll the septum ring so the gap face downwards. Quackity gauged his handiwork, tugging the ring up until Techno was craning his head as far skyward as he could manage. The low motor of his growl faltered as the pain and helplessness lodged in his throat, and a weak gasp slipped out of him before he could squash it.

“Bring the brand and a bucket, too,” Quackity demanded, not yet releasing his punishing pull. 

Fundy complied, and a sloshing bucket and the white-hot glowing tip on the end of a long metal wand burned its way into Techno’s vision at the same time. The brand was bright enough that Techno had a hard time making out the shape, and the air above it swam and warped with heat. Fundy handed both off to Quackity, who plunked the bucket under Techno’s head and drew the brand perilously close to Techno’s eye.

The heat on his cheek was immediately too warm as the brand waved just out of contact. Techno imagined that if it was left long enough, his skin would burn like it did in the worst of the summer months. The fine hairs at the edge of where his beard would grow crinkled and shrank into ash, and his eyes watered and wept at the sting of smoke.

“Do you see this, Techno? Do you know what this is?” Quackity waved it close to his skin a moment longer before he let it draw back far enough that Techno could actually focus on the shape of the brand.

The L’Manberg flag.

Despite popular belief, Techno was slow to anger. He historically dealt with things quickly, as he needed, but he didn’t hate freely. No, for Techno to truly loathe you, you had to earn it. You had to be trying for it.

Quackity succeeded.

“Stay still and this shouldn’t melt your face off, okay?”

Not that Techno had much of a choice with Quackity still pulling the septum ring to the extremis of his range of motion. Techno squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on the deep, dull blooms of pain where his gag dug into the fresh sockets of his tusks, when he felt Quackity’s grip on the piercing shift, and the heat suddenly intensified for a moment just under his nose. He opened his eyes just fast enough to see the base of the brand being used to weld the piercing’s gap closed, which meant he only had a moment to-

The water was icy cold, probably taken straight from the pier, and it sizzled and spat as it quenched the hot metal. Techno took a breath in at the shock, inhaling water in a gasp. Predictable. Predictable, but he hadn’t been fast enough. He didn’t have enough time to curse himself before the water sucked down and into his chest, and the world was a sudden, straining burst of sheer panic.

He was drowning. He was fucking drowning, nevermind that he was drowning in a bucket of all things, never mind that they wouldn’t kill him like this, not yet, not when they had such plans they were so gleeful to enact, like children with a magnifying glass stalking a wayward beetle. That was distant. That was nothing. That didn’t exist for him.

The only thing that mattered, the only thing in the world, was the water weighing down his chest, the shriek of the burning void in his chest where air should have been. A heavy curtain of terror separated him from anything beyond that, whoever was holding his head under, wherever he was.

In desperation, he threw his head forward, butting into the bottom of the pail and knocking it out of Quackity’s grip. Techno heaved up water the second he broke the surface, straining from the force of it hard enough that his hooves stripped a layer off the wood he stood on and the stocks shuddered and creaked. The force of coughing and hacking up what water remained set off a chain of spasms in the still-tender stretch of muscles that had been raked across the ground the night before. His body twisted away from the pain before he could stop it and one of his legs buckled. Techno only barely managed to catch his weight on the other, and his hips dipped back far enough that his jaw slammed against the front of the stocks.

“Oh-ho, sweet!” Quackity said, and even though Techno’s eyes were scrunched shut, tense from the pain, he could feel Quackity tugged and pulled at the fresh piercing. “That closed up perfect.”

Techno could feel the seam of the weld pass through the piercing hole, slightly raised and still warm but closed fully. He’d have to take the bolt cutter from a crafting bench to the ring now if he wanted to remove it. 

“Haah-” Techno groaned, hopelessly inarticulate from the gag still stretching his mouth wide. It was pointless to try pleading with them now, even if he could speak with perfect elocution. Even if he could formulate an argument through the drag of his fight or flight response. They wouldn’t listen, but at this point he wasn’t trying to speak to be listened to. He was a person, not an animal. He could still assert that. He had to remind them, even if it accomplished nothing. He was a person. He didn’t deserve this.

He had to remember that, even if they didn’t.

He didn’t deserve this.

“You going to brace his ass or what?” Fundy asked. He was standing somewhere nearby Techno’s flank from the sound of his voice, and when Quackity torn his attention away from teasing and tormenting his piercing, he looked towards that direction. “He’s not going to want to stay still.”

“Ha, yeah we don’t want to botch that. Can’t exactly erase it and try again!”

Right. The brand.

Techno internally swore. He didn’t even brand his own cattle, thinking it unnecessary and cruel (and what’s beside, who would rustle  _ Technoblade’s  _ cattle?). While his rage was more or less overshadowed by his grief and strange, numb focus on getting through the ordeal, streaks of fury still laced through his chest in odd intervals. He was a person. He didn’t deserve this.

He felt Quackity on the other side of his ass hook an arm under his belly and behind his legs. Quackity pushed himself bodily against Techno’s hip to hold him steady, and Quackity’s groin pressed into Techno’s thigh as a consequence. The stiff outline of his cock grinding through his jeans made Techno’s stomach turn, and it was enough of a distraction that he wasn’t prepared for the brand itself.

It was so much worse than he expected.

Fundy pressed the metal against the seat of his ass firm, and immediately the heat felt gouging. The burn was unlike the slow sear of being too close to lava, or swimming in it in a fire-resisted aura. It was even unlike the smart of a candle singing his finger when he’d been melting seal wax late into the night, until his sleepiness made him clumsy. It was a bright pain, not even a warm canary-yellow of a burn, but a white-hot, narrow, and cutting thing, like steel. The only sense of heat he felt was against his ribs and down at his knee, where the radiating flash of nerves could compose themselves enough to send a coherent signal.

The scent of burning flesh hit as the brand sunk deeper, bubbling and melting the fatty tissue as it went. Techno  _ shrieked _ . The sound was shrill and strangled and panicked and partway a wordless plea, because it  _ hurt _ , and the brand was pushing into him like it was going to tear away his leg, or at least mangle it enough that he wouldn’t be able to move it. The sound eked out of his throat, tightened in the rictus of overwhelming pain, but it was still loud with the full-chested force behind it.

Fresh sweat poured down his limbs and pooled in the small of his back where Quackity’s grip forced him to bow and turn his hips down. His hair would be lank with it if he still had more than the tufts and fuzz the shearing left behind. As it was, Techno could feel beads of sweat slide down his brow and cheeks, cutting clean lines through the dried blood and stinging where they met the open wounds of his ears or landed on his tongue. There he could taste the salt before it hit the fresh piercing and he could feel it.

Sweat and tears. He was crying openly now, shaking with the effort of the heavy, wracking sobs. Techno hadn’t realized he was, would  _ never  _ have allowed himself if he was lucid, but the burn of the brand narrowed his world to the boil and melt of skin. Now that he was, he couldn’t stop. Techno fought against the deep gasps, but he felt as drowned as he was in the water; he couldn’t get enough  _ air _ . And with his jaws forced open, the ragged cries remained unstifled and humiliating.

At some point, they pulled the brand away. They must have, because the pulse of his heartbeat thumped more and more steadily and gradually overtook the sharper pain. Sensation prickled back into focus, spreading closer to the point of damage as if the nerves were afraid of getting too close and were feeling out for the edges of the worst of the damage.

Techno could smell cooked meat and knew the brand itself was deep enough to burn away nerve endings. It was too early to tell if it had gone deep enough to damage the muscle below. He knew the ass was, objectively, one of the better places to get a brand, as the fatty deposits would protect the actual muscle and bone, but it was impossible to tell if they had pushed far enough in. His leg  _ felt  _ weak, and he could tell from the shoot pins and needles sensation that it was trembling on its own, but that could just as easily be from the pain as it could be from any substantive damage.

He almost hoped that it was damaged, if only because Techno didn’t want to think that it could have been worse. Not when it already incapacitated him so thoroughly, and certainly not when they could easily do it to him again. He did have two cheeks, after all.

“You  _ squealed _ ,” Quackity said, delighted. Techno cracked his eyes open when he felt Quackity take his face in hand, index crooked under his chin and thumb pressed on his tongue. Tears and sweat gathered on Techno’s eyelashes and dripped at the disturbance as he squinted up at his tormentor. “You squealed like a  _ pig _ . That’s what I like to hear. Fundy, the tag.”

Techno didn’t have the strength to recoil from the touch. He couldn’t go anywhere even if he did, and Quackity supporting some of the weight of his head even in such a proprietary and ignoble way was a small relief. He let his chin rest in the grip, sinking into it, and focused on steadying his breathing until his sobs were nothing more than uneven gasps. His eyes slid shut in his exhaustion.

“I want you to see this, Technoblade. Look at it. Can you read it?”

Techno cracked an eye open again and took a moment to focus his vision, which still swam from the pulses of pain shooting up from the branding. Quackity was holding a nametag in his spare hand, oriented so Techno could read the label.

_ Public property of L’Manberg _

“I should have let you keep the ears. I would have put it there, but this’ll have to do.”

He didn’t have the energy left in him to recoil. The rage stirred like a hibernating beast, but distant and tired and the fight had left him, at least for now. 

He was supposed to be retired. He was being good. This wasn’t fair.

As it was, Techno barely had the energy to whimper when Quackity pierced the center of his tongue and fed the ring of the name tag through. The metal plate rested against his bottom lip, dangling and fogging with each shaky breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. That is not how welding works. I know. I've welded. Don't care. Gave me an excuse to drown my fave a bit uwu  
> 2\. You can lowkey tell I went to a dude ranch summer camp every year growing up in this. Born and bred Texan. Yee haw and all that noise.  
> 3\. Techno cried in this more than I was expecting to write but I love men crying the MOST so y'all're going to have to have to deal with a slightly more outward emotionally expressive Techno than I'd usually write. I think it's earned but since we have a lot of ground left to cover I just want to be careful that I don't blow my tears load too early. There's only so many ways you can describe agonizing pain before it starts to feel like retreading ground :T


	7. Pearls Across Swine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fundy preps Techno's ass while Quackity breaks in that mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added an enema tag because there is a retained enema in this chapter, but I do not like scat and will not be addressing that in this fic. The inclusion of enema is strictly an exploration of physical pain fatigue and the humiliation of such an invasion. Sorry anyone who was hoping for that content, no judging but ykinmkato
> 
> Also yay finally some rape :)

“It’s almost enough to make you want to plunge right in,” Quackity said, and Techno could hear the smug in his voice.

They stood behind him, far enough back that Techno couldn’t see either of them outright. He could feel hands on his ass, spreading his cheeks so the cold air brushed his hole. Judging by the feel of callused, rough paw pads, it was Fundy, but the both of them were looking over him appraisingly.

This at least was a short reprieve. It wasn’t painful, and it wasn’t the kind of degradation that burrowed into Techno like botflies. He had always been proud of his body, or at least at his body’s constitution. It had taken time to accept his piglin features when he was younger and the only person that reliably saw him as an equal and not an aberration was Phil. But by the time he left the Antarctic Rebellion, he was hardly self-conscious about displaying his body in front of nigh strangers. The communal showers and saunas of the militia made sure of that, and that’s not even taking into account the triage center when he was in active zones. Any sense of propriety goes out the window when an arrow manages to thread itself between the femoral artery and vein at your hip.

The casual way they laid their hands on him was a different matter. That rankled, but it wasn’t an escalation, really. They’ve been laying hands on him all evening. At least this didn’t hurt. And Techno knew that was just an excuse so he didn’t have to keep fighting, and he knew excuses were  _ dangerous _ , but hell. He was tired. He was  _ exhausted _ , and Techno had to lock his knees just to keep himself standing.

He hadn’t given up. Maybe it was an excuse, but he was just a person. Maybe not human, but a  _ person _ . He had to pick his battles, and right now Techno just wanted to stay as still as he could so the hot waves of pain radiating out from the fresh brand remained gradually dulling and tolerable.

“Almost,” Fundy agreed, and something grazed over his hole. Techno lurched forward, and the brand burst into another wave of throbbing. Stupid. He had been startled, but there was nowhere to go anyway, and what Techno could guess was Quackity’s hand followed him where his pelvis rolled down to try and avoid the contact. Fundy’s claws dug into his skin and pulled him back with enough force that Techno could feel the horn of his hooves raking against the wood as he was slid back.

He couldn’t say anything when Quackity’s fingertip returned to the hole. Maybe that was better. There was nothing Techno could say that wouldn’t just make them more inclined to do what they planned. Still, Techno couldn’t keep the low, pleading whine inside him as Quackity’s finger pushed and teased, toying with the wrinkles without even entering him.

He couldn’t just  _ let  _ them. 

He kicked out and stamped his hoof on his still-whole leg. It was more a signal of frustration than anything. He couldn’t reach them, certainly couldn’t hurt them, not with how brief he could stand to put his weight on his branded leg, but the helplessness made him restless and he couldn’t just let them. He was a person. He was still a person.

Techno’s vision greyed at the edges when a hand came down right over the brand, slapping it with an almost hollow-sounding ‘pop’. Fresh sweat poured out of him from the shock of pain, and his knee buckled again. Fundy had to keep his hips up for several seconds before the fog cleared and Techno was anywhere near lucid.

“I can’t believe you’re still acting up.” Quackity pinched the skin just inches away from the brand- a warning- and Techno stuttered a gasp in. The pinch tugged at the burn, but the threat was more impactful. It would be so  _ easy _ .

The horrifying instinct to  _ apologize  _ reared its ugly head, and again Techno was grateful that he was gagged. Stupid. It was stupid to think that kowtowing now would help anything at all, and a higher part of his mind, the part he  _ listened  _ to, knew that. The panicky little  _ Id  _ that just wanted it to stop was growing louder and louder, though, and he had been involved in enough interrogations to know what that meant.

But he was a person. He had his  _ dignity _ , even if it wasn’t acknowledged.

“This is what’s going to happen, Techno.” Quackity’s voice was hard but quiet as he leaned over to whisper into his mangled ear. The hand stroking down Techno’s thigh was almost thoughtless. At the end of each stroke, it returned to just far enough down his leg that the brand didn’t ache from the touch. “We are going to fill you up and clean you out so we don’t accidentally kill you. And you’re going to let us, or we are going to go over to Phil’s house, wall it up, and set it on fucking  _ fire _ , and the only thing you’re going to have to eat for the next month that you’re in here is  _ fried chicken _ . Got it?”

Any semblance of fight left him as he remembered that he wasn’t just rebelling for himself, here. Techno had hoped that Fundy’s presence was enough to curb threats to Phil, but now he wasn’t sure. He could still feel Quackity’s breath on the shell of his ear, tingling cold as it hit his drying blood, and Techno guessed Quackity wanted some kind of confirmation. Techno bowed his head as much as the stocks allowed him to and let out a sharp exhale through his nose that he hoped read as agreeable.

“Great! In the meantime, let’s start breaking in that mouth.”

Instead of going back to Fundy, Quackity squared himself in front of Techno’s face. And it was stunningly fast, how he progressed from there. Techno watched him shuck down his pants and underwear just far enough that he could take his own cock in hand. Now face-to-face with Quackity’s half-hard head bobbing in his face, Techno shivered and shied away. 

It was… it was happening fast. He had thought he had more time, that he could steady himself. He knew it was going to happen, but this- this-

“Come back here,” Quackity warned, and reached out to grab the nametag still dangling from Techno’s tongue. Immediately, Techno tilted his head back, trying to give as much slack on the tag as he could, as Quackity dragged it towards himself. Tears burned over the edge of Techno’s eyes as he strained to relieve the pull at the fresh piercing, until he reached the limit of his mobility and the tension of the tag teetered at the edge of ripping his tongue.

Quackity laughed at that, casually swiping away the tears and mucus and drool gathering on Techno’s face as he held Techno’s head at the uncomfortable extreme. With just his index and thumb pinching onto a thin bit of metal, Quackity could make Techno keen in pain and supplication. He gave the tag short, shallow little tugs, careful enough that the piercing wouldn’t split through but enough that Techno winced with each spiteful jerk.

Techno internally seethed. Through his tears, he could see Quackity’s cock thicken fully. He was enjoying the look on Techno’s face, the disgrace and ease at which he could control and hurt him. He was soaking up the helplessness. Techno clung to the shred of defiance he had left, keeping a furious gaze up at him, but finally shut his eyes with a weak warble when Quackity leaned forward and pushed the underside of his cock against Techno’s cheek.

Through the stench of blood, Techno could smell Quackity’s flesh and sweat as he rubbed against his face. It ground against his chin and glanced off his lips, rested in the valley on either side of Techno’s nose, and the tip caught at the rim of his eye socket as Quackity rolled his hips and thrust up

As Techno partly-tasted Quackity’s shaft where it rested on the side of his extended tongue, Fundy dashed water over Techno’s lower half. If the quenching of his piercing was cold earlier, the water was frigid now that the sun had fully set and the only source of light were the distantly floating lanterns around the pier. It was a shock, another sensation that Techno couldn’t fully process after the branding, and it was only that his legs were locked to push himself forward and relieve the strain on his tongue that kept Techno upright at all.

Techno still gave a shrill noise in his throat in instinctual disapproval, but grew quiet as one of Fundy’s long, curved nails pushed into his hole and began to pry and tease it open. 

“I wish I could take you raw, just like this,” Quackity murmured down, voice a bit rougher as his arousal mounted, “but tearing your ass up would put you out of commission for too long.”

Techno’s attention was divided between the cock leisurely dragging itself across his face, smearing precome and mucus in turn, and the feeling of something cool and unyielding pushing against his hole behind him. It pressed through the resistance and slipped smoothly into his channel. Techno couldn’t determine what it was by its shape and texture alone- he was too numb by the cold and the alien sensation of something pushed into him there made the sensations scattered and confusing- but when something wet and tingling began to trickle into him, Techno gathered from context it was some kind of potion.

“Regeneration,” Quackity confirmed as he stroked his palm over Techno’s uneven tufts of hair remaining. “Because if someone like Bad comes along and uses you like a fleshlight, we don’t want him to pull your guts out along with his dick when he’s done with you.”

Techno shuddered as the first potion emptied in him before being quickly replaced by a second. He could feel the fluid sitting heavily inside him, pushing against his walls. As the second glass bottle filled him, Techno felt the press of fullness in him, and knew he’d be sweating in pain if it weren’t for the soothing properties of the potion itself. As it was, the beginning of cramps were a dull, rolling pain that didn’t make him moan so much as huff out at the edge of each breath.

Fundy’s rough pawpads reached around and pressed experimentally against Techno’s belly, and Techno imagined Fundy’d be able to feel the new firmness from the potion even under his muscles. The potion bottle was replaced again, and this time the contents drained in slower as he was already saturated with the mix.

While Fundy nudged and twisted the potion bottle’s neck in his ass, the friction jolting up Techno’s spine as nauseatingly stimulating, Quackity pulled back far enough that he could angle his head into Techno’s mouth and through the ring that kept his jaws wide. The blunt tip jammed against the back of his throat and made Techno gag, his whole body tensing at the intrusion. That meant that, along with his tongue pulling back and tugging painfully at the fresh piercing, his hole clenched around the potion bottle neck still fed into him.

The feel of constricting around the hard glass sent an unwanted fissure of arousal up through his body, squirming and slithering up from his gut like some alien parasite, and vanishing as quickly as it came. The potion in his bowels helped, both in its mellow, settling properties and the surge of pain that spiked when the gagging tightened his belly and set off a sharp cramp to clear his mind.

Quackity thrust against his soft palate a dozen more times, wrenching a gag out of Techno until his reflex adjusted. At some point, Quackity hooked his finger back into the septum piercing and- still holding on to the tag at Techno’s tongue- pushed in as he pulled Techo down on his cock. With both his upper and lower jaw being dragged by the hooks in his flesh, Techno could only try to weather Quackity face-fucking him.

The head bludgeoned its way into the tight channel of Techno’s neck, sealing off air as his shaft pinned his tongue down and crammed the back of his throat. That horrid panic set in briefly when he couldn’t breathe, and when his throat constricted around the corona of the head, Quackity let out a long, low moan.

The flickering rage jumped in Techno again. Quackity was using his body’s reflex to survive for his own pleasure, and the audacity of being reduced to instinct and a tool (a  _ toy _ ) made him want to bite down and cleave the entire thing off. He only managed to push the ring of metal into his tusk’s sockets when he did, and the urge atrophied and slunk away in its impotent rage.

“God that’s good, Techno,” Quackity breathed down at him. His voice was a bit rougher, less collected, than before. “So hot and wet, and squeezing me down.”

Techno’s attention abruptly shifted back to Fundy, as the last of the potion drained into him and Fundy replaced the thin bottle neck with a shallow, thick plug. Its girth as Fundy pushed it in was a momentary flash of pain, quickly smoothed by the potion sitting in him, but it was solid and wide enough even at its stem that seemed to punch the air out of him and fill him just past the tolerable fullness of the potion itself.

The potion’s properties kept his walls from tearing, but seemed to be the limit of what it could do to help his body accept the intrusion. The uncomfortable weight and stretch quickly began to send off cramps, and Techno groaned in pain around the cock in his mouth.

Fundy soon joined Quackity’s side, which gave Techno two very unpleasant realizations. One, the plug would remain for the time being, and relief from the rolling spasms of pain was not going to be right away. Two, judging from the device in Fundy’s hand, a sort of modified waterskin with a thinner nozzle at the end, it wasn’t three small potion bottles worth of regeneration, but a considerable amount more.

“It only lasts about half a minute in regular doses, so I’d give it about ten minutes until it’s soaked up as much as it’s going to,” Fundy said, not taking his eyes off of where Quackity’s cock pushed into Techno’s mouth.

“How long- ngh- can we keep it in?”

“We’ll want to use him before it could do any damage to him.”

Quackity snapped his hips forward in a particularly rough thrust. “Thirty minutes sound good?”

Techno’s eyes went wide and pleading, looking up at Quackity and then desperately to Fundy, who looked impassive at Techno’s tear-streaked face. “Fine by me. I’m going to check the brand.”

Thirty minutes.  _ Thirty minutes. _ Techno already felt clammy and sick with the heaviness and cramping thrumming up his body, and real fear bubbled up in his chest. Thirty minutes, and he could hardly breathe, hardly stand, hardly  _ think _ . So much of him was stiff and hurting and shaking in the effort to just keep him upright and conscious that perhaps passing out would be better, even if he was doubtful that the torment would stop while he wasn’t awake to fully appreciate it.

He wanted Phil. He wouldn’t call out for him, knew that want was selfish and  _ cruel _ , but he  _ wanted  _ Phil there. He didn’t want to be alone like this. Alone and hurting. If Phil was there, he would see. He would care.  _ Phil  _ knew he was a person, knew he didn’t deserve this. He’d be furious on Techno’s behalf.

Techno shut his eyes, feeling the magnitude of his mounting pain, and tried to focus on the fiction of Phil’s voice, hushed and sympathetic, as Phil helped him stumble home to rest. The soft, accented “mate”.

He could almost hear it under the sound of wet flesh slapping and Quackity’s string of moans. Distantly, Techno knew Quackity’s rhythm was faltering in the stuttering way just before one came. The thrusts had turned vicious, smashing his lips into Quackity’s public bone as he wrenched Techno onto his cock until he was sure his lip was split from the force. The back of his throat felt rough and bruised as the edge of the head caught on his soft palate every time Quackity pulled out. It made breathing easier, as the thrusts were wide enough now that his throat was clear every time Quackity pulled back, but each push in jammed into the giving skin, and he didn’t wait for Techno to stop coughing for air before cramming back into the spasms of his throat.

He tried to ignore Quackity’s half-formed ramblings of how good it felt for Techno to choke on him. It was a disjointed mess of fragments, praising how the constriction of each cough felt like a vice milking his dick. It was revolting, clawed at the scraps of his dignity, but every time he shrank away from Quackity’s vitriol, he could only focus on the nauseating slosh of potion raking at his stomach. The thrusts rocked his body in time of each forceful push, and consequently the fluid rocked inside him and sent a steady tempo of cramps gnawing from his gut.

Finally, Quackity’s hips snapped a few sharp thrusts in a row, and he was groaning a long, low note of satisfaction. Techno could feel the come stripeing his tongue as Quackity pulled out while he came, and ropes of come spurted once, twice in his mouth, before Quackity angled his cock out and up to streak come over Techno’s face.

The come smeared over his forehead and dripped over one of his eyes, forcing him to close it as the cooling come clumped his eyelashes together. Quackity rolled his hips through the aftershocks of his orgasm, using Techno’s face as a rag to come on and clean himself with. Quackity laid his palm gingerly on his shaft to press it firm against Techno’s cheek, and he wiped clean the saliva, semen and traces of blood still left.

“In case anyone was unclear about what this was supposed to mean,” Quackity rasped, his orgasm making him sound rough and bleary, and he tugged once more at the tag dangling from Techno’s mouth. “Don’t worry, though. I’m sure I’ll be ready for round two before we let it out. I want to be the first one inside you after that. You get it, right? Spoils of war?”

Quackity managed to find the cleanest remaining part of Techno’s face and patted it in that jovial condescension that made Techno sick, before teetering to one of the audience’s chairs and collapsing into it heavily.

“In the meantime, I can enjoy the show. Fundy? The sugar cane?”

When the tell-tale noise of sliced air came from just behind the stocks, he didn’t have time to brace before the first blow landed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phil is Techno's emotional support psychopomp ;_;

**Author's Note:**

> I do take torture suggestions~


End file.
